


5 Things Harry Shouldn't Have Said

by JTxBojan



Series: Words [1]
Category: One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: "Words" series, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JTxBojan/pseuds/JTxBojan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 things Harry shouldn't have said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Things Harry Shouldn't Have Said

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of 3 of the Words Series. Re-posted from my Tumblr.

1.  
It was a Wednesday. You’re standing in the bathroom, running a hand through your hair as you look at yourself in the mirror. You have been spending the entire day, listening to people perform their singing talent on the X-factor show. You’re tired of watching and listening but the last few performances have really impressed you. You finished your own performance quite a while ago now and you’ve been listening to the others with your friend Liam Payne.

The last three especially impressed you. An Irish boy, Niall Horan, who had a lovely voice. A cute girl, Rebecca Ferguson, who had the voice of an angel.¬¬ And then there was that guy, Louis Tomlinson. His voice had made your knees go weak. 

"The last three were wicked. I liked them."

Liam smirks. 

"I bet you do. I saw the way you were ogling that Tomlinson guy when he was singing."

You gape. You snort. You glare. You deny.

"Uh, I was just _astounded_ -" You smirk as you continue. (You and Liam play a game where you would see who could use bigger words in everyday conversation, all though you always end up losing because, as much as you hate to admit it, you’re thick as a rock compared to Liam and you don’t even understand most of the words you’re using yourself.) "- by his singing, Liam. There aren't many people who can make their voices sound like that without having their voices crack.”

"I reckon you have the hots for him." Liam grins at you.

"So what if I do?" 

Although you're reddening, you don't mind much since this is Liam, your best mate, and he's never been one to judge you. He starts to laugh, but then, Louis walks out of one of the bathroom stalls, and there's a small smile fixed on his face, he's somewhat blushing as well, as he rushes for the door.

_Maybe you shouldn’t have said that._

2.

It was a Friday. You and the group had gone out for drinks after spending the entire day writing lyrics, but you weren't really even tipsy yet as Louis took a seat next to you, Liam, Zayn and Niall sitting by a table, deeply engrossed in a conversation about something seemingly interesting.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice he orders a drink. You notice that he's fidgeting. You notice that he's, possibly, watching you too. You wonder what it'd feel like to kiss him. You think: ‘ _Maybe I've had too much to drink_.’ You realise you haven't.

Finally, you turn to him. 

"What's up, mate? You seem out of it tonight."

He smiles wearily. 

"Do I? It's just... Girl problems." He laughs, awkwardly, all though you seem not to notice that, and you wonder if you've ever heard anything more lovely.

"You can talk to me about it, Louis. What's wrong?"

You smile warmly at him, and you speculate if he can tell your smile is a bit too warm.

He seems to melt a bit, or so you think. 

"Well... I told Hannah, my girlfriend, that I loved her. And she didn't say anything back."

Oh. You were hoping along the lines of: 'We broke up.'

You were hoping more along the lines of: 'I told my girlfriend that I'm in love with one of my mates, (no, not Liam) and she got mad.' 

You were hoping along the lines of: 'Come back to my place with me tonight.'

You say: "Oh. Well. Well, Louis. She was probably just... Taken by surprise. There's no way she doesn't love you. I don't think it's possible not to love you."

You swallow. ‘ _Have I maybe said too much?_ ’

He swallows. ‘ _Does he maybe realize too much?_ ’

He says: "What are you trying to say, Harry?"

It's then you realize that you have had too much to drink, it's then that you realize you would never say anything remotely close to any of this if you hadn't been drunk. Right? It's then you realize that maybe you're a chicken when it comes to things like this.

You want to say: ‘ _Love me. Love me instead. I'll love you back. I think I already do._ ’

You say: "Eh, I don't know, Louis. This beer has been doing my head in, mate."

_Saying that might not have been your greatest idea._

3.

It was a Wednesday. You're at Louis’ place, where you seem to be finding yourself a lot lately, especially since Hannah moved out after telling Louis she didn’t have feelings for him anymore. _What a cunt, how can she not have feelings for him?_

You're playing a game you like to call; "This or That".

"So... Licking your own vomit or eating your own snot?"

Louis makes a face. "You're always so gross. Eating my own snot. I'm sure I did that when I was a kid anyway..." He smirks. _And you die a little bit inside._

You laugh and make a disgusted face at him. "Must be a Doncaster thing, because I've never done it..."

He ignores you and continues. "My turn. Attempting to kill yourself by rolling down a hill or putting a pillow over your head?"

You snort, unimpressed, _but you actually are a bit impressed._

"Rolling down the hill is the way to go for me. Need to be in action. I wouldn't take the lazy way out. So. Zayn or Liam?"

He laughs. "What about them? Who's the better singer?"

You shake your head, and you wonder if this is taking it a step too far. 

"No, as in, who you'd rather shag."

He raises an eyebrow, and there's surprise in his eyes.

"Oh. Uh. Well. Liam's cute..." For some reason, you bristle with jealousy. "...But Zayn is more _manly_ than Liam." He smirks, and you think about whether he thinks _you're_ manly or not. 

He goes on. "Besides. You'd tell him if I didn't pick him." He laughs softly, but he continues quickly, as if he's trying to get the nerve to say it. 

"Okay. Me or Zayn?"

You realize this is taking it too far.

You think: ‘ _He's got nothing on you.’ You think: ‘A thousand times, you.’ You think: ‘It's only ever been you, Louis._ ’ 

You think about all the things you could say, you think about everything you _want_ to say, you think about how much you're hurting yourself, and possibly him, by what you're not saying.

You reply. "Uh. Zayn, clearly, mate. Have you seen that ass?"

_Fuck, you probably shouldn’t have said that._

4.

It was a Saturday. Louis was sprawled across your couch, his legs in your lap, and he's attempting to sing a Bruce Springsteen song, for you, but you aren't even listening. You're too busy watching one of your old performances from the X-Factor on TV.

"Will you walk with me out on the wire-”

You pat his leg, hoping it'll silence him.

“-Cause baby, I’m just a scared and lonely rider-“

You sigh impatiently, hoping he'll take the hint.

“-But I gotta find out how it feels-“

You give him a stern look, but his eyes are closed as he tries to "dazzle" you. 

"You do that every day anyway." You had told him. Clearly, he hadn't listened. 

You’re hoping he will, please, just shut up.

"-I want to know if love is wild. Boy, I want to know if love is reeeeaaaaal.”  
His voice goes up an octave, and you wonder how the glass hasn't shattered yet. You noticed he switched ‘girl’ with ‘boy’, but you can’t find it in you to actually hear it.

You ignore him, staring hard at the television, which is showing a close up of Liam as he sings.

"Harry! You haven't even been listening to me sing my heart out for you!"

There's a smile in his voice, the teasing tone making it apparent, but you end up snapping at him anyway. 

"Maybe I'd rather hear Liam sing."

What happens next is a blur: A glare, a quick movement, a door slamming.

_Oops._

_Perhaps you shouldn’t have said that._

5.

It was a Wednesday. August 8th, 2012, to be exact. 

You're pacing your bedroom, and your phone is in your hand. You want to call him, you want to say something, but you're not sure if it'll help.

Finally, he calls you, after what seems like hours.

_"Harry. Hello."_

"Louis. Hi."

He sighs, disturbed by your silence. 

_"It's something that I had to do, Harry. I needed this, for me."_

You merely nod into the phone, forgetting he's not right in front of you, realizing you want to see him, at least one last time, right? 

"Louis. Meet me at my apartment. Don't you think the least I deserve is a goodbye?"

You smile softly, and you hear him smiling too, albeit there is pain in his voice. 

_"Of course. You're my friend."_

Twenty minutes later and you're both sitting on your couch, not really saying anything except listening to the way the other breaths, knowing that by now you've had it memorized, knowing that by now it's practically ingrained in your brain, knowing that by now you don't even need to listen to know the exact tempo it'll be, wondering what it'd be like to know the exact beat, tune, melody, rhythm, what-fucking-ever of his heart.

You turn to him suddenly, laughing softly. "Remember that time you got me a cake?"

He looks at you quizzically for a few moments before it dawns on him, his laughter fills up the space around you. It's loud and hard, and ragged and raw. It sounds beautiful, somewhat like goodbye. 

"Oh, yeah! For your birthday!"

"I'll always remember that. I loved you then, I did."

He turns to look at you, confusion, hope, love(?) written across his features, studying you as if to figure out what you mean. But you don't give anything off, you've become accustomed to hiding your feelings, so he just smiles softly, sadly, disappointed(?). 

"It was my honour to." He continues. 

"You know... This isn't goodbye, Harry."

You wonder if he can read you as well as everyone seems to think so.

You force out a light laugh, but it sounds pathetic and desperate and heartbroken to your ears, shaking your head. 

"But isn't it? Louis... Did it matter to you? Whether you left or stayed?" 

You wonder if he could hear your underlying question.

Does it matter to you if you leave me? Does it matter to you that you won't see me ever again? Do I matter to you?

He gives you a look, and you know exactly what his eyes are saying.

 _"Harry Edward Styles, how could you think I wouldn't care?"_ and _"Don't you know how much One Direction means to me?"_ and, oh yes, but of course _"If I had only one reason to stay, it'd be you."_

Ha, you wish.

He says: "Did it matter to you whether I stayed or left?"

Apparently, he can read you better than you expected (on stage and off stage, it's all the same to him, it's all just you).

You answer meekly, defeated, after years of trying to hide it. 

"Yes."

He sighs, and you know that he feels he hasn't won anything. 

You know that he feels that this is just a little bit too late. 

You know that he feels heartbroken as well now. 

You think: _‘Maybe I should've kept my mouth shut.’_

You think: _‘Maybe he won't get what I was trying to say.’_ All though you know he does. 

You think: _‘Don'tfuckingleavemepleaseIloveyousomuchIloveyousomuch.’_

You look at him. There’s something in his eyes. Something in his eyes that tell you that there’s something you can say. Tells you that there’s something you can do. Just three small words, just a small movement of your face towards him, just you telling him, just for once, how you really feel. 

You know that’s all that it takes to keep him from moving with his cousin to Rome in Italy. You know that’s all it takes to make him stay with the band, with the guys, with you. You know you can make him stay. It’s just three little words. It’s just a second of honesty. It’s all he needs. And you can give it to him, right here, right now. You can make him stay.

You’re not speaking. You try, but you can’t. He moves. From the corner of your eye, you see him shift before he gets up. He walks towards the door, which you can see from where you’re still sitting on the couch. 

You need to say something. You need to act. You need to stop being so fucking stubborn and just tell him. Tell him that you love him. It would make him stay. It’s three small words. And you mean them. You just have to say them. Say them, and he won’t leave.

You open your mouth, then close it. You repeat the action several times before you actually look up and at him. He’s stopped by the front door, his back to you. 

He’s waiting for you to say something. Anything. He’s waiting for you to say those words to keep him from leaving. 

“I…” You begin. He turns around and looks at you. He’s waiting. He wants you to say it. He needs you to say it.

You take a deep breath and lock your eyes with his.

"I wish you the best in Rome, Louis."

He nods, his face emotionless, his mouth in a tight line, but you know his heart is breaking. You know you’ve just torn him apart. 

"I wish you the best in England, Harry."

He turns around and opens the door, steps outside and closes the door behind him, not even giving you a second look.

You slide of the couch after watching him leave, sitting on the floor while resting your back against the sofa.

You stare at the door, a part of you hoping he’ll come back and shout _‘Gotcha!’_ But you know he won’t. Because he’s gone. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.

You could have stopped him. You should have stopped him. He’s gone because of you. He’s gone because you were too fucking stubborn to tell him how you really felt. 

You feel a tear run down your cheek as you keep staring at the door. He’s gone. You know he’s gone.

You clench your eyes shut and you slam your teeth together in a force that makes you wonder if you’ll break your own jaw, but you can’t fucking bring yourself to care, because Louis is gone and it’s your fucking fault.

And you curse yourself for being such a stubborn cunt.

_And you know you really shouldn’t have said that._


End file.
